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Lake of tears

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  • Will Dockery
    Ray V wrote ... Thanks, Ray--. Will
    Message 1 of 4 , Feb 1, 2004
      "Ray V" <rayvee@...> wrote

      > > > >From: dockery58@... (Will Dockery)
      > > > ...
      > > > >Bitter salty tears,
      > > > >and a smile
      > > > >for what we shared.
      > > >
      > > > >Kathy,
      > > > >golden blonde hair,
      > > > >eyes bluer than the sky.
      > > > >I will gladly die
      > > > >to be with you if I must.
      > > >
      > > > >Sweet memory
      > > > >of our kiss.
      > > > >I cry and cry and cry and cry,
      > > > >and pray.
      > > >
      > > > Oh, Will, If I could collect the tears which are shed
      > > > and are still being shed from your eyes, I would be
      > > > able to make a great lake, a bitter lake, a lake which
      > > > should be named: The lake of Will' Sorrows.
      > > >
      > > Marianna
      > >
      > > Times are much happier these last several days, Marianna--- just
      > > concentrating on work and art. The poem below relates to what you've
      > > written, I think, since in dream, several times, the tears actually
      > > *did* reach the proportions of a "lake":
      > >
      > > Dream Tears.
      > >
      > > Spanish guitar flutters.
      > > It was 1895 or so,
      > > I was in a dream.
      > > I met my bride on saint George Street,
      > > sweet brown nameless bride.
      > > In the big clapboard city market house,
      > > train station dream place.
      > > Her eyes and smile,
      > > her sparkle of wit, my dream wife.
      > > We sit with happy conversation.
      > > Across the huge room,
      > > I see the drunken unreconstructed rebel.
      > > Swearing and pushing people.
      > > I nod to her
      > > that it's time for us to slide.
      > > We cut through the side room bar area,
      > > crowded ---
      > > I look back,
      > > my heart sinks,
      > > She is not behind me.
      > > I don't see her anywhere,
      > > among these happy ghosts.
      > > I step out on this street,
      > > waiting, looking,
      > > no sign of her.
      > > I step back in.
      > > Coming through the opposite
      > > far entrance I see...
      > > The parade of proud klansmen.
      > > It all becomes clear to me,
      > > they took her.
      > > My sweet smiling nameless bride.
      > > I step back onto Saint George street,
      > > salt breeze and fish smell in the air.
      > > I sit with a group of fellow ghosts,
      > > beaten and grey under an awning,
      > > and I cry --- floods and torrents of tears.
      > > Spanish guitar flutters.
      > >
      > > -Will Dockery.
      > Very moving poetry.
      > I wish you happier times.

      Thanks, Ray--.
    • Ilya Shambat
      Here s one of mine... The flowers of lovethat you gave to mehave blossomed, have blossomedand under the flaming skyand in the impalpable sunlightpieces of
      Message 2 of 4 , Feb 1, 2004
        Here's one of mine...
        The flowers of love
        that you gave to me
        have blossomed, have blossomed
        and under the flaming sky
        and in the impalpable sunlight
        pieces of me
        percolated from far edges of the universe
        and together merged into love.
        for when I say
        that I love 
        the meaning is this:
        that my heart is fire.
        that my mouth is parched.
        that my hands are full of bruises.
        that my eyes burn holes in the walls.
        Love me.
        Love me like cloud loves lightning
        Love me like tenderness loves intensity
        Love me like galaxy loves the quasar
        Love me like orchid loves rain.
        Feel my fire
        Running through you
        Feel my fire
        Without end or beginning
        Feel my fire
        As I burn for you
        Feel my fire
        Feel my fire.
        We can't be together
        But I burn for you
        You love me from afar
        But I burn for you
        There are miles between us
        But I burn for you
        But I burn for you day and night.
        The flowers of love
        Can be seen sometimes in meadows
        Sometimes in vases
        And sometimes near people's gravestones
        And sometimes someone would water them
        Hoping to keep them around for a while. 
        So do not mind me
        No, do not mind me
        As I water
        The flowers 
        Of love
        That you gave to me
        With something extraordinary
        With something red and viscous 
        With something that carries nutrients
        With the very blood

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      • Will Dockery
        Karipidu wrote in message news:20040219132307.06623.00000004@mb-m05.aol.com... ... Marianna But you don t see this in me? Interesting.
        Message 3 of 4 , Feb 19, 2004
          "Karipidu" <karipidu@...> wrote in message
          > > You are Taurus, but you don't act like Taurus.
          > >From: "Will Dockery" ironywaves@...
          > >Like what does the typical Taurus do differently from me?
          > >Someone suggested it maybe had something to do with
          > >a rising sign or something like that... maybe there's an
          > > answer, or maybe the answer is obvious.
          > I know a taurus who reacts as a rebel.

          But you don't see this in me? Interesting.

          Art, music, poetry of Will Dockery:
        • Will Dockery
          Karipidu wrote ... Her soft inscrutable smile : Shadowville Ballet. I dreamed --- an unholy afternoon of dreams. I chased for her with a
          Message 4 of 4 , Mar 5, 2004
            "Karipidu" <karipidu@...> wrote

            > >> >(I have to write more about the High Priestess who nourishes
            > >> >men spiritually, while the Empress nourishes them physically).
            > >> One of them takes someone's breath away, while the other
            > >> gives someone their breath back again.
            > >> or
            > >> you struggle with the one but not with the other one.
            > >From: "Will Dockery" ironywaves@...
            > >Am I correct in thinking that they make a good team? The latter sounds
            > >preferable to the former at a glance, but both have intriquing aspects..?
            > Yeah, but the first one is full of mystery and she is not
            > telling anyone about the secret. That's the mystic nature
            > of man. The Fool is a secret admirer of her. She disturbs
            > (Greek: she taraseis his mind) his mind, his thoughts.

            "Her soft inscrutable smile":

            Shadowville Ballet.

            I dreamed --- an unholy afternoon of dreams.
            I chased for her with a silent scream ---.
            Dreamed of a very tiny bald rat,
            and of her with a man in a big black hat.
            Dreamed I awoke her, lifted her veil, tears in my eyes,
            and she smiled her soft inscrutable smile.
            She walked through the door,
            carrying our black haired infant child,
            who evolved into another then became her herself.
            It dissolved into a meaningless dream blur.
            I dreamed of a woman who was now my love,
            someone I've never met but who also was her!
            She was blonde, cunning and careful to keep love.
            I dreamed of old Broadway and the bars and the street,
            somehow risen above the usual to a new level.
            Sometime in the future somehow sideways,
            the wall of Jim's bar opened into the human.
            Somewhere maybe sideways along,
            I dreamed, though not there to keep her,
            on an unholy afternoon of dreams.
            I believe it would crumble to one and one,
            as if we saw that rainbow yesterday.
            We saw it apart, once again, though knowing.
            We did not know each other then,
            as we do not now although created in many dream fragments.
            New realities, new reunions, in sideways realities,
            where she realizes we must work fast not to lose,
            like they said we would.
            I dreamed, an unholy afternoon of dreams.

            -Will Dockery (c)2002

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